When To Stop
by Gina Marie Stayton
Summary: She didn't know why the dead started to get back up. She didn't know why she survived, or why she'd found that group. She didn't know why anything happened, but she knew that without him, she wouldn't have made it this far, not by a long shot. But she was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of killing, tired of doing nothing but surviving. She had to stop, she just had to.


**So this is my second attempt at writing fanfic, so it may be a little rough with a few details missing, but bare with me and feel free to review and tell me any mistakes I've made or any improvements I could make. Thanks! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters recognizable from the TV show or the comics. No copyright intended.**

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Chapter 1

She couldn't believe how hot it still was. The sun had long since set, but sweat still drenched her clothing, causing it to stick to her in odd places. She'd found an old Bronco to sleep in for the night, choosing it mainly because of the blacked-out windows, which she'd hoped had kept the interior cooler. But she'd quickly learned that escaping the late summer heat in Georgia wasn't going to be that easy. She'd chosen to stay in the truck anyway, figuring that at least the windows blocked the view from outside, preventing anything, dead or otherwise, from seeing her curled up on the back bench seat.

She laid there for a while, thinking back to why she was even headed towards Atlanta in the first place. She'd overheard a group of men saying that they thought a refugee center was still up and running near Atlanta. She'd also heard them talk of a woman they'd come across earlier, and exactly what they'd done to that woman. She shuddered remembering how scared she'd been that they would discover her and do the same things to her that they'd already done to another. Thankfully, they'd moved on rather quickly, leaving her to debate whether or not to try for Atlanta. Ultimately she'd decided it was her best shot.

So here she laid, two weeks later, in the slowly receding heat, not 20 miles from the heart of Atlanta. She'd decided to stop a bit earlier than usual upon seeing the sea of cars in front of her, knowing it was better to stay on the outskirts of such a large pileup than to risk getting surrounded by the undead somewhere in the middle of it.

She turned on her side facing the seatback, relishing the feel of the cool leather on her skin, hoping it would cool her down enough for her body to allow her some much needed sleep.

As she finally felt her eyelids slide closed and the knots in her back relax, she thought about what she might find in all those cars the next day. She fell asleep, hoping that she'd dream of new socks and water bottles, not of the undead eating away at her flesh as she so often did.

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She awoke the next day, just after sunrise, already dreading the heat that it would bring. She sat up cautiously, her eyes scanning her surroundings to make sure nothing had decided to come and investigate the Bronco she'd been sleeping in. Seeing nothing, she opened the back door quietly, grabbing her bag as she slid from the seat.

She made her way to the tree line, still scanning, not wanting anything to sneak up on her. Satisfied that she was alone, she squatted behind a tree, relieving herself. Standing back up, she secured her backpack on her shoulders and made her way towards a small sedan, checking in each window, not wanting to be surprised by anything trying to eat her while she searched, before opening the driver's door. She rifled through the glove compartment, looked under the seats, and popped the trunk, looking for anything that she could use.

She continued this process with every car she passed. If she saw a corpse in the car, whether it was trying to claw its way out to get to her or not, she didn't bother to search it, knowing it wasn't worth a few stale crackers if she got bit.

After searching what felt like a hundred cars, she'd come up with quite a bit of supplies: some extra shirts, a wide range of medicines, lots of canned goods and water bottles, even a revolver with a few bullets left in it.

She sat down for a break around noon, pulling a T-shirt, a can of beans, and a water bottle out of her bag. She took off the shirt she was wearing, which was covered in blood and dirt and God only knew what else, tossing it on the ground beside her before picking up the new shirt and sliding it over her head. She almost groan at the clean feeling of the cotton, something she hadn't had the luxury of experiencing for a few weeks now. She did allow herself a few moments to close her eyes and relish the feeling before she opened them back up, looking around to make sure she was still alone with her feelings.

She then got to the task of opening the can of beans with the black pocket knife she'd snatched from a rotting corpse three days ago. Successfully cutting a large enough hole in the can, she tipped it back, trying to ignore the taste of the beans she'd come to loath.

Finishing the beans she opened the bottle of water, taking small sips in order to conserve as much of it as possible, knowing she may need it down the road.

As she was putting the pocket knife back in her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, she paused. Cocking her head to the side, she listened for the sound that she was sure she'd heard just a moment ago. Sure enough, the sound of an engine being revved reached her ears once more.

She was frozen in place, not knowing if she should run or hide. Before she could make that decision, however, she heard the sound of another engine giving out, hissing and screeching as it went. This sound snapped her out of her frozen state, and as she heard two other engines being turned off, she crouched down, retrieving the revolver she'd found from the waistband of her jeans.

Knowing that she didn't want to backtrack through all the cars she'd searched through, she slowly crept forward, careful to stay hidden behind one car or another. She often peaked around her hiding spot in search of whoever those engines belonged to.

As she moved closer, she began to hear voices, both male and female. She considered this a good thing, knowing all too well what groups of all men were capable of.

She peaked around a pick-up truck, finally spotting someone. He was black, tall, and quite burly. He carried a jerrycan, and she watched as he crouched down to siphon some fuel. She was about to turn around to figure out her next move when she felt a presence behind her. She turned around quickly, gun raised, ready to end the undead son of a bitch before he took a chunk out of her. What she saw when she turned, however, was not at all what she was expecting.

Before her stood a man, covered in dirt, glaring at her with a crossbow aimed at her head.

She stared at him, open mouthed, for a few seconds before composing her face into what she hoped was a hard, unreadable mask.

"Put it down," she said in a forceful voice, albeit quiet enough to not alert the black man standing a few hundred feet away of her presence.

"You first," said the man, giving her a small smirk.

"Put it _down_ ," she said with more conviction, not caring if the other man heard her or not this time.

"Like I said, you first princess," he said, dropping his smirk for a much more sinister look.

She stood up slowly, all the while keeping eye contact with the man.

"Yo, everything okay over there?" she heard from behind her, causing her to wince. She knew that if this second man had a gun she was doomed.

She had just decided to turn her gun on the approaching man when she heard "Shit!" coming from the man standing in front of her as he lowered his weapon. Seeing this as her chance, she was about to pull the trigger when she heard another sound coming from behind her. The shuffling of feet and the moaning of those who had long since died and come back to life.

Wiping her head in the direction of the noise, she gasped as she saw the sheer amount of the undead making their way towards where she stood. Before she could react further, she felt a hand pull her in the opposite direction, all but throwing her down on the asphalt.

The man who had moments ago been ready to end her life was now pushing her underneath a car before scrambling in after her, motioning for her to not make a sound.

They waited silently, staring at each other, then the feet of the dead walking past them, both praying they wouldn't be discovered.


End file.
